No More

A.N. Thick writing is the logical side of her mind. Slanted writing is her mind wanting to kill her off, and everything else is the narrator and talking. Okay? Okay.

(I can't do it.) (But you must. No one would care anyway.) 

Scissors in hand at my wrist. I can't stand this. If you came late, while I'll fill you in. I want to die, but there's one problem. I'm scared to do it. (Come on, can't go back now, remember what happened.)

Tears pricked my sorrowful eyes,  just thinking about it kills me on the inside. Yells rang in my ears, of just an hour ago. (Be reasonable, people would mi-) (Miss you? Ha! That's hilarious! Geena, everyone hates you, so don't start the cutting. Just kill yourself! My dear, if you do this it would make everyone happy, you are a mistake. The scum of the earth, so just finish yourself off.) (Maybe you're right.) (Of course I'm right, I'm always right. Now Genna, end it all.)

I tried, but the scissors were to dull. Mum was down stairs so i couldn't get a knife. Wait, the box cutter. My mouth stretched into a psychotic smirk. "Let's do it." an insane laughter escaped my lips.

Blood was all over the washroom, I was still laughing like a mad man. I seemed to love this new way of copping, yet it hurt.

Cuts all over my body. I started to bleed out. (Hey, good job you bitch. You're killing yourself, let's have fun in Hell, sound good?) I let out a sigh in relief.

"Yeah, see you in Hell."